Jester
by Two Whales
Summary: Jess "Jester" Quinzel has a normal life. Her hobbies include video games, getting annoyed by her younger brother, and robbing banks. Wait, what? Her parents are Harley Quinn and The Joker of Arkham. There's no disputing that... right? Where else could she have inherited purple hair from?
1. A Prelude

The steely gun was freezing against the warmth of my hand. A bit uncomfortable, really, but it was more uncomfortable for the man who got the barrel end.

"Put the fucking phone down or I'll blow your fucking brain out." The man turned to me, like a deer in headlights. He was a well dressed older man- matching jacket, tie and pants, all finishing in a very, very, expensive golden watch. I cocked the hammer to show that I don't fuck around.

He squealed like a stuck pig.

"Please don't hurt me!" the man sobbed. "I have a wife and family!" I rolled my eyes. Those could've been his last words, and they were a fucking cliche? Jesus fucking christ. I leaned into his ear and whispered.

"What's your name, man?" His eyes widened. He stammered and coughed

"David. David Kujo." I grinned, a big, unsettling-almost-frightening smile. I aim the gun at his hand that's holding the phone and shot. The hand blew clean off, splattering the bystanders with his blood, shrapnel made of fingernails spraying into the crowd. The man's agonizing screech ripped through the giant marble bank, echoing with the sweet sound of someone getting fucked over. David was on the ground, clutching his stump with his other hand as the blood painted the gleaming floor. I grinned again.

"My name is Jester. Nice to meet you, Davey-boy." I picked the phone, and, as one definitive blow, took the fragile device and hurled it into his face. Glass shattered and punctured into his cheeks, eye and forehead. "Now..." I announce. "I think this makes it pretty fucking clear what happens if you use your fucking phone to turn us in. Shut the fuck up and maybe you won't die." To be honest, I don't even know if the man was alive or dead. Did I care? Hell no!

My parents didn't always see the fuckers in the back. But I did. I always do.

"Jester!" My mother calls. Except when she does, with her New York twang, it sounds like "Jesstah", not that it matters. I stroll away from the man on the ground and towards my mother. She handed me two giant bags of money. "Take these to my car, since your dad's is full. Then we're headed out. We cleaned this fucker out!" I grinned and took the money. If I was a normal girl, it would've been way too heavy, but I was weirdly strong. Almost supernaturally strong, but I always chalked it up to hardcore Joker training sessions. I strolled out, popped open the trunk to see all the other cash in there, dropped it and shut the trunk. My mother and father strolled out with a hostage, and boy, was it a sight. My father, in his lime green shirt and pastel jacket in stark contrast to his fluorescent white skin and yellow eyes, strolling out like he owned the place. He's got a gun to the head of some man, our hostage, who, judging by his pants, had pissed himself. My mother was grinning like the psychopath she was, just grinning at my dad. He grinned at seeing me. He whistled, too.

"Start 'em up, girly." I grinned right back, stuck the keys into the ignition of my motorcycle, and started it up to the roar of the engine. I shifted the bike into first and shot off like a rocket, cackling with the freedom. I heard the wail of the sirens far behind me, but I was gone. The streets of Gotham was my home, and I rode my green and purple signature bike through the streets with the freedom that only comes with the shit I pulled.

It had been a good day.


	2. The Stage is Set

I had just gotten home, feeling triumphant for pulling a heist at the age of fourteen. How may people can fucking say that? No-fucking-body, that's who. The wind might have well been lifting me up, until I dropped like a stone because I got interrupted by my fucking brother.

"JESS!" He screeched.

Goddamnit.

I guess an introduction is in order. This is my younger brother Martin. Although, to go with my family's odd circus theme, his codename will be "Mardi Gras". It'll suit him, a little purple and green gimmick with his blonde hair will fit the holiday's colours too well. He was such an aspiring criminal it was a shame as he was my father's personal whipping boy. A little too literally, actually. My father wasn't too hard on me, because I had a job- I contributed. I helped him on heists, watched his back. I was incredibly strong, and incredibly fast. When I wasn't training for my father, I was reading. I liked psychology and sociology, because I wanted to be able to get into people's heads. I wanted to understand the deepest recess of my victim's mind, the most vulnerable part of the human experience and completely and utterly ruin their psyche beyond repair.

"JESS!" Marti screeched again, snapping me out of it. For someone with so bleak a future, he was sure excitable. "How was it? Did it go well? How much money did you get?" I squinted. If I was any other older sister, I would've blown him off. But I looked at my brother, fresh with the bruises on his face from the last time my father beat him. I felt like I had to indulge him.

"Great. Someone tried to call the cops, so I blew his hand clean off! Like BAM! It was great" Marti smiled so wide I thought his face was going to break. That kind of smile makes me smile too. His happiness was, well, infectious. Sometimes I think about what would happen if this wasn't our living situation. He would've been such a sweet child.

"Can I see the gun!?" He begged. I reached for the gun holstered onto my waist, popped out the remaining five bullets and handed him the gun. It still had blood splatter on it. I couldn't help but grin. When dad gets home Marti gets very reserved. Speaking of which, the slam of a door echoed through the house, coupled with the cackle of two maniacs in a good mood.

It's sad really. I fit into this family like a hand into a custom glove. My hair is an almost fake looking royal purple, my eyes are emerald green. I'm paler than an irishman. I look so much like the Joker's daughter. My little brother, this boy, who is innocent under all of the psychopathic influence of my parents, with his bright blue eyes the colour of a sky, and hair the colour of a cornfield in the golden hour, is tied my parents by blood, but not love.

It's terrible, really.

I watched my father walk into our lobby- we lived in a grand renovated hotel- with money and a giant grin on his face.

"Jester, you would not BELIEVE who tried to fuck with us this time!" He cackled, his laugh ripping through his chest. I knew, of course I knew.

"Batman?" I pretended to ask.

"DING, DING DING!" He shouted. "We. Have. A. WINNER!" He screeched with joy like a child who was just surprised. I was slightly confused. Usually when the Batman tries to fuck around with my parents, their moods aren't good. I looked to my mother for an explanation, but she held her tongue. Better to not ruin the Joker's big build up. "We fucked him up, we fucked him up! He tried to cut you mother off and she hit him, hard! Her front end went into his driver's side at an angle. She drove away fine and he looks like he's gonna be a crip for the rest of his life!" My mother smiled and spoke loudly, but was clear to not try to cut off my father.

"At the very least, he's not going to be stopping us from crimes for at least a couple of months, which means..." My face lit up like Christmas, except screw Christmas because this is infinitely better. It's time for a crime spree! I took a peek behind me and Marti was waiting at the top of the stairs with his big eyes, which looked like they were full of tears. During crime spree months, he rarely saw my father, who seemed to be too excited with plotting violence and usually, something big. I didn't know if my brother was crying from fear or joy.

Maybe both.

I went back up to my suite, which was oddly normal. The walls are storm grey and a calm white. There are pictures on the wall of me with my friend, Jay. He was the son of Uncle Wilson. He had dark, raven hair, but I saw a similar emerald green eye staring back at me. Uncle Wil taught him to fight, for sure, but I had more natural talent while he had the skill that only came from hard practice. He also lives all the way in Jump City. The rest of my room is filled with objects from different heists- I've got every console ever created, every shade of chrome grey and polished ebony line the shelves of the elaborate system I've set up.

I switch on the nearest game, the fluorescent glow lighting up my pale face. I play a couple minutes worth, but I've beaten the game already. I'm not really in the mood to do particularly anything, so I pace around. I pick up a handful of hard plastic throw darts and toss them at the target mounted on my wall, but this doesn't keep me entertained either. I hear the door downstairs open which brings in a tidal wave of noise. Loud voices roar in laughter, filling the empty atrium with their chuckles. I raise my eyebrow in interest. Knowing my father, it's probably his crime buddies, or 'associates' as he likes to call them. I opened my door to head down the crimson spiral staircase when I saw my mother. She was heading up the stairs with Marti on her hips. He was sobbing and hiccuping into her shirt, turning her shirt dark with tears. Marti's soft face was completely burrowed into her shirt. I knew I should ask, show some semblance of caring to my brother, but I couldn't. I didn't want to miss whatever was going to happen. As I tried to sneak past her she cut me off.

"Don't go down there" she ordered. I raised my eyebrow again. Ma doesn't give orders to me, ever. If we're on a job I take orders from Dad, not her. For her to exert her power over me- well, it happened once in a blue moon, that's for sure.

"I'm just getting a soda, Ma" I responded immediately. Damn, I was good at making up lies. She glared at me.

"Why don't you get one from your mini fridge?" She immediately questioned me. Shit. That's true. I did have a mini fridge.

"I'm out." I countered.

"Then why would there be any in the downstairs fridge?" Fuck. My mother was quick. She knew that whenever we got soda that I liked, I stored it in my room so that Marti wouldn't drink it. Marti has a tendency to emulate me, down to my mountain dew habit.

"The help just got more. I'm picking up the case now. I'll be back in a second." I replied smoothly. She looked at me critically. Somehow, I got the impression that this is what how she looked at her patients while she was a psychiatrist.

"Fine." She commented sharply. I started to dash down the stairs. "Stop." I nearly tripped over my own feet- my mother, my psychotic mother was a lot of things- sociopathic, possibly bipolar, a renowned criminal, a caring mother- but she was never serious. Her hand gently touched my brother's chin and pried his head away from her and turned his head to me. I saw the large blue bruise and red welt spreading across Marti's face like a wildfire, obscuring his ocean blue eyes.

"Don't you think for a moment that this won't be you if he catches you listenin' to him. He ain't above hitting you just because you're useful, ya' hear?" She turned away from me and continued to sway my sobbing brother. I continued down the stairs, but much more quietly.

"Thanks, Ma." I whispered back up. I did go to the fridge, opened it up, and grabbed a can of soda. I popped the cap and headed to the big onyx coloured door and leaned my ear in.

"With the Bats out of the way, what can we do?" One low voice echoed through the room.

"With Bats out of the way, what can't we do?!" A raspy voice called out, chuckling. The room erupted into terrible laughter.

"Jonesy makes a good point. We have to take special advantage of this opportunity. We are going to go on a spree, right? If you all do as I say, you'll be set for life. I'll see to that. Here's what I propose- a 12 days of Christmas Crime-esque crime spree." It was my father's voice now- only he could capture an audience this way. His voice was eerie, but smooth, and calm, like an ocean before a storm.

"We hit big targets, like banks, on one day. If we gather all the manpower we have access to, and hit simultaneously, The police will be too uncoordinated to effectively stop us. Classic divide and conquer techniques."

The way my father crooned reminded me of a spider in a web. If father was captured, he would only get thrown in Arkham. He'd breakout in a month, but these goons? If they were captured they'd be fucked over, in a max security prison in god-knows-where, waiting to rot. Plus, him "proposing" it to them made them feel like they had real power, even though we all know that's not the truth.

"We're going to split up now. Then assign targets to each group, the works." I heard the screech of a chair. "Johnny- you're heading one group-" It took me far too long to figure out what the screech of a chair meant. Someone was getting up.

And just like that, the door that I had become so comfortable against opened, causing me to crash onto the floor. Looking up, I saw the very, very, very angry face of my father.

Shit.


	3. Rehearsal

_**A:N Hey, it's TwoWhales here! I know this story is marked BBrae, and don't worry- it's definitely coming. Just be patient ;) I hope you enjoy. Also, I made some changes plotwise to previous chapters, basically deleting a character as my plan for the future changes. Hope you enjoy!**_

"Jester." My father's voice was calm, like an ocean before a storm. His words drip with the promise of what will certainly be a thrashing of a lifetime. I bow my head, expecting the worst. "What makes you think you have the right to eavesdrop on my business meetings?" Still, even with this invitation to talk, I dare not look him in the eyes.

"I hoped that you would allow me to lead one of these groups. I've done a lot of bank heists- maybe enough to lead my own?" I tentatively asked. I was on thin ice that was paper thin, and I was all too aware that any sudden movement could send me right into the abyss.

My father, surprisingly, seemed to think about it. He took several moments to look at me, with his arms crossed tight like vices across his chest. He knew the longer he kept me waiting, the worse it would be. What felt like minutes passed by as I waited for my death sentence.

"All right. These terms are agreeable to me." My father said slowly. "Come here." He commanded. Joy lighting up my face like a sign, I tried to contain my excitement as I walked over him. "You will not be caught. You will not be able to pick your job- if I say you're robbing a pet store or a food bank- you fucking do it. You don't get to pick your team and you don't get to keep all of the spoils." I nod fervently- I wasn't getting punished for eavesdropping, and I was getting control of my own heist! As I reached the height of my excitement, I did not see the fist headed straight for my head. The closed fist hit me hard, like a freight train, sending my head sideways with a crack. It's partner hit me in the opposite way, and a blow to my nose finished me off as I was sent to the floor.

I was only out for a second. My head was ringing, ringing, ringing

My face was wet?

 **...**

Why was my face wet?

Oh God, I haven't been crying, have I? My tongue darts out, tasting metallic liquid. Huh. Blood. I'm fine then. I stand up, opening my eyes to the grinning face of my Father and his 'associates' who were looking at me with mixed expressions. One or two looked at me with pity. Most looked completely apathetic. A couple match my Father's gleeful face.

"If you ever presume to eavesdrop on me again I will bash your head in, alrighty-roo?" He giggled eerily. I had no doubt in my mind that he meant every last word. I bowed my head again. "I'll give you a job. Sit down and shut up." My father said.

The meeting reeked of cigarettes and drinks. My father's sharp voice penetrated the hazy mist of cigar smoke. So I did as I was told. I was quiet and I listened. I'm sure I looked a sight, wincing at any loud noise, caked blood running from my nose to my chest, a mess of green, purple, and red.

I was a teenager surrounded by old men.

In the end, my father did give me a job- I was assigned one of the bigger jobs- the Great Gunman's Ammunition and Arms. It was a large department store-esque firearms store. The Joker's gang could never get enough weapons, that was for sure. Usually there were several police cars that would circle the store lazily, but those police officers were not set in place- they could be called away on any crime, which was the plan. Two men, Gacy and Wayne would get into a fistfight on the other end of town, incapacitating the officers who were in charge of that area. Then, the first group, led by Dahm, would rob a bank in the same vicinity to lure the cops usually guarding the gun store. Then, my mother would lead one of the most important parts, which was a rare trust given by my Father- an attack on the police headquarters itself- arson was mentioned several times.

Then as all available police force was totally diverted, I would led "my" group to the gun store. There would be guards, but not nearly to the extent as if the cops were around. The truth of it, of course, is that it wasn't really mine; that was just another illusion my father allowed me to buy into. But I was not the most important part of this plan, no. That honour was reserved for my Father. I'm sure he would love to be the one setting the pigs to barbecue, but he had bigger plans. Such as an arms dealer named Andreas Eiker who has been inching in on my Father's territory for far too long. He was a large bear of a man, with hulking muscles that combined with his height made him seem more like a monster than a man. He had several bodyguards too, as well as people on the inside of the police. He was my Father's target.

By the end of the day, we would have the loot of a bank, an arms dealer and a department store full of guns.

It was exhilarating but also nerve wracking. Eventually, the men's conversation drifted to other things, like the best brew in town and who's the hottest whore. My Father nodded at me, the signal for me to leave.

I went back to the fridge and placed my hand on the icy handle. Opening it up, I grabbed another soda, popping the tab off like a gunshot. I turned around to see Marti, his big blue eyes still swollen shut.

"Marti-" I tried to say. He turned and ran as fast as he could on his stubby little legs. I sighed. There really wasn't any use in chasing him. I trudged back up the stairs, my legs feeling heavier somehow, only to find my mother on the top of the stair.

"I hope you know what you're doing." The New York accent rang out, not with anger, but concern. "Because if ya don't? I can't promise ya that I'll be able ta bail ya out." I nodded and bowed my head, and tried to skirt around my mother up the stairs. "And kid?" She called out.

"Yeah?" I responded.

"You've only played assistant for for us so far. Now you're leading an operation. If you fuck this up you won't get an assistant's punishment, ya hear?" Jesus, what is up with my Mother today? 16 years of joy, merriment and psychosis and now severity? It took me off guard. The plan wasn't a big deal, right?

Shit.


	4. Calling All Actors

I figured it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to get some fresh air. I popped my keys into the keys of my bike and hopped on. Once again, my violet hair whipped behind me as I ducked and weaved through traffic, cutting people off with gleeful malevolence. The world was my oyster, and my pearl was the sound of car horns and fender benders behind me. Eventually, I switched off the road into a parking lot, screeching to a halt. Walking with purpose, I entered the large building and handed a silver credit card to the clerk. It was set. I was going to Jump City. Luckily for me, there was a plane departing in about 20 minutes- the perk of living near one of the biggest airports in the country. I breezed through security, and by breezed, I mean skipped it entirely; grabbed a soda; strolled onto the plane, into first class with all the importance of royalty, because in some way I was. It occurred to me that texting my plan to Jay wouldn't be an atrocious idea, so I took out my phone and clicked the contact labeled "Bird Brain", decorated with the least dignified photo of Jay I could find. I lifted up my phone, and with the snap of a shutter I took a photo of my plane window. I captioned it with #jumpcityhereicome and #getready. I grinned, imaging the look of surprise on Jay's face as I sent it. Not minutes later, the ding from my phone signaled a response.

 _Bird Brain: Why didn't you tell me you were coming to visit?!_

 _Me: Kinda spontaneous decision_

 _Bird Brain: U leaving now?  
Me: ya, so you'd better have a motorcycle waiting for me at the airport._

 _Bird Brain: dont want me to pick u up?_

 _Me: those aren't mut exclusive_

 _Bird Brain: for the last fucking time I dont know how to drive one of those_

 _Bird Brain: why you coming anyways_

 _Me: Business prop. Lets grab dinner_

 _Bird Brain: kk_

 _Me: See you in about seven hours_

The plane ride was incredibly mind-numbingly boring. I occupied myself by thinking about the different ways I could kill everyone here, how easy it would be to sneak a bomb past security... You know, typical thoughts for a villain. I played through some video games, relishing in the sight of decapitated heads flying through the air, the faces of those I had burned, and the throats I had slit. My only gripe with the game is that I couldn't kill kids: there were a large amount of children who had earned my wrath, as well as a dagger to the face. Still though, the seven hour flight was tortuous and I wanted to be anywhere else. I looked at blueprints of the ammunition store. I read up on Andreas Eiker, who was actually pretty attractive, with blonde hair and dark stubble; he looked very German. I took a quick nap and read up on torture methods. _They should consider adding being on a plane in front of screaming children as a torture method_ , I thought, as the little girl behind me started crying again. Her mother, dressed in a business suit, eventually calmed her down. The brat, however, who looked around six, clearly enjoyed kicking my seat, and no matter how many times I asked the demon or her mother to stop, she wouldn't. With my greatest smile, I ordered the steak sandwich from the flight attendant, asking, with all my charm, if they would please hold the side of fruit as I was allergic to salicylates. When they brought me the food, I ate, and then waited. I bid my time, pretending to be asleep: when the mother went to the bathroom, I inserted a piece of chewing gum that I chewed into the child's hair, right next to the roots. As she looked up at me, shocked, I slipped the gum package into the pouch of her seat. When the girl cried, alerting the flight attendant, I feigned sleep again. When he talked to me, I politely told him I didn't have any gum on me, as my allergy to salicylates that prevented me from eating the apples and blueberries with my steak also prevented me from chewing mint gum, and that the child had been misbehaving all flight. Her mother opened the door to the bathroom, and hearing her child's wail coupled with the flight attendant standing by her side, rushed down the aisle. The flight attendant told her what was happening. When the mother trifled through the bags and pouches, she found the pack of gum in question. She profusely apologized to me. I simply asked the flight attendant if they could be moved as I no longer felt safe near them. They were promptly moved to economy. I was also offered free food, which I accepted with glee.

I was a little less bored now.

Eventually, the plane touched down, and I departed with my backpack, I texted Jay

 _Me: Here loser_

 _Bird Brain: be there in 10_

I noticed while waiting in the large expanse of the airport, the little girl left with a tear stained face and very, very, short hair.

I looked over my shoulder to see Jay waving to me. He was easier to miss in a crowd than I was- purple hair will have that effect. He was of a medium height, with charcoal black hair and bright green eyes. He wore a simple blue t shirt and black pants; civilian wear. I strolled over to him.

"How was your flight?" He asked me, in his typical quiet voice. I wouldn't say it's a high-pitched voice, but he was no tenor, either.

"I made a kid cry." I commented, flashing him a grin. He looked at me in amusement.

"Nice. Now, let's grab something to eat." He led me towards the entrance where our vehicles were parked. There was a black and bronze motorcycle, complete with a black and bronze helmet waiting for me. A black and blue car waited for him.

"What do you want to eat?" He asked.

"I'd kill for some sushi." I informed him. He grinned.

"Excellent, there's a restaurant where you can eat still-moving octopus legs. Let's go!" I smiled. Jay always had a penchant for weird foods. His driving, though, pissed me off. He likes to drive semi-safely while not on a job. I drove safely too, mostly because I didn't know where the restaurant was and because it seems rude to wreck someone else's car. The ride there probably took four times as long than if I had my say about our speed. We finally arrived at the place, a sleek building. The outside had a koi pond. I smiled. Quickly, I typed a reminder into my phone to get koi in my room. I took off my helmet, mussing up my short but thick hair. We strolled into the place. Upon seeing Jay, the staff immediately moved a family who were sitting at a big booth table and cleaned it, before seating us there and bringing champagne. I looked at Jay with a confused expression. He shrugged.

"I come here a lot. It's my favorite table. And I pay so much that they are willing to overlook the underage thing. Now, what did you come to talk about?"

"How would you like to help me rob an ammunition store?"


End file.
